Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone
by Delilah's Soliloquy
Summary: A rainy day is all it takes for Artie to realize just how much sunshine Tina brings into his life.


**A big hello to all my fellow Artie/Tina shippers out there—this one's for you guys. Even though it's snowing and not raining outside right now, I was still inspired to write some stormy weather Tartie fluff! Reviews are sunshine on my rainy days…**

**Disclaimer****: It's none of it mine. Still. Oh, well…**

Ain't No Sunshine (When She's Gone)

Artie Abrams hated rainy days. It wasn't just the gloomy color of the sky or the way that—no matter how warm it was outside—you always arrived at your destination feeling cold and wet. No, Artie had a special set of concerns regarding rainy days that were completely his own.

Spending most of your time in a wheelchair would tend to make rainy days extra difficult. Artie hated how the wet ground made it difficult to move, how it took double the usual effort to push himself on most outdoor surfaces and how even once he got indoors, his wheels were so wet from rolling through puddles that he felt like he was sliding in all directions. On top of all this, he was also usually completely soaked at this point. Pushing himself to school in his wheelchair afforded no extra hand to hold an umbrella.

And so, as Artie looked out the window one Tuesday morning and saw the rain beating down in a steady rhythm against the front walk, his heart sunk. Artie may be an optimistic person, but he was not foolish. He knew _exactly_ what was in store for him.

"Can Dad drive me to school today?" he asked his mother hopefully. Maybe there was a way out of braving the monsoon after all.

Mrs. Abrams looked over the top of the refrigerator door, where she had been hunting for a jar of peanut butter (wedged all the way in a back corner). She looked pained, as though this was the last question she wanted to hear when she was in a hurry. "Artie! Your dad left already. He told you this morning if you wanted a ride, you'd have to leave early with him, don't you remember?"

"What! _When_?" This startling news was a revelation to Artie, who could remember no such agreement being made during his waking hours.

"He stopped into your room when he was getting ready for work…oh, about six or so. He said you didn't get up, so he assumed you had a ride."

Artie groaned in frustration. No wonder he didn't remember talking to his father; he had been in a stupor when the knock on his door woke him far earlier than he was accustomed to. Artie didn't trust his brain to _function_ at six in the morning, much less to make logical decisions about his transportation arrangements.

"Are you okay, honey? Do you need a ride? I'm carpooling with Yvonne from work, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind dropping you off at school first…" Mrs. Abrams' friend Yvonne drove a miniscule subcompact car with only two doors. You had to lay down the passenger seat just to be able to climb into the back. Somehow, Artie couldn't see himself attempting it (though the mental image did strike him as inexplicably funny).

"No, Mom, it's cool. I'll just call Kurt and see if he can't just swing by. His car is huge; he usually drives in with Mercedes anyway."

Mrs. Abrams nodded and, abandoning her search for the peanut butter, started searching instead for her raincoat and umbrella. She returned five minutes later and, still calling out last minute instructions, kissed Artie goodbye as a horn blared from outside. Artie rolled over to the front door and chuckled to himself as he watched his mom attempt to squeeze into Yvonne's Matchbox car. Turning from the door, he pulled out his phone and dialed Kurt.

"Kurt? Hi! I was wondering…you still carpool with Mercedes, right?"

"Unfortunately, since my dad took my baby away, Mercedes and I have both been relegated to taking the bus with the rest of those cretins. Where have you been? I'm positive I mentioned it before."

Artie frowned. This conversation was not going well. "You don't have a _car_ anymore? Since when? I thought you and your dad could fix that hole in your windshield easily."

"Oh, then it must have been _Mercedes_ I told—my dad refused to let me have the car back when he found my tiara collection in my hope chest."

Artie didn't know what excuse he had been expecting, but this was certainly not it. He had no response for Kurt, except to insist that it was no big deal and he'd see him later at school.

_Looks like I've got no other choice_, he thought. _I'd better pack a change of clothes._

Five minutes later, Artie was out the door, pushing as fast as he could without skidding. He wasn't sure why he was in such a hurry—he could be travelling at sixty miles per hour and he'd still end up soaked, raincoat and all—but the effort of staying in motion while keeping control was at least keeping his mind off the rain. Until…

A crosswalk. _Of all the places to stop_—he didn't have the light to cross, which meant he'd be sitting on the curb, waiting for the light to change. Artie eyed the oceanic puddle he'd need to roll through right beside the curb apprehensively. _Please change…__please__ change…_he silently urged the light to change before—

Too late! An SUV, speeding up to make the yellow light, drove right through the puddle, dousing Artie with icy rainwater and bits of fallen autumn leaves. The sense of frustration was completely unbearable. Artie struggled to find something positive in the situation, but it was hard. "Well, there's no sense in hurrying now—I couldn't get any wetter if I tried!"

By the time he arrived at school, Artie was so thoroughly soaked that he doubted his clothes would dry out any time this week, much less in the next few hours. Even after getting changed in the boys' bathroom before class, there was still that damp chill that lingered in his very bones. It cast an ominous tone over the rest of the day, which culminated in a note, taped to the door of the music room:

_GLEE CANCELED TUES. AFTERNOON_

"Mr. Schue can't make it—something about Mrs. Schue and…something, I dunno," said a voice. Artie turned around to see Finn Hudson. Typical Finn response. "What kind of stuff? Didn't you ask?" replied Artie, wondering what on earth could have been _so_ important that Mr. Schue had to cancel Glee. Finn looked uncomfortable. "Nah, I didn't understand a word of it. Anyway, I've got to go—Quinn will _kill_ me if I don't drive her home in this rain." And he was off, without so much as a second glance at Artie.

No Glee. The perfect ending to the perfect day. _Now__ all I have to look forward to is the trip home in this downpour_. Artie rolled himself into the entryway and pulled up the collar on his jacket, bracing himself against the imagined sensation of being showered in cold water (a sensation that would soon be all too real). He was just about to head out when he heard another voice—and Artie was willing to bet it wasn't Finn Hudson this time.

"Don't you have an umbrella? It's raining pretty hard."

Tina. A welcome sight on the bleak horizon. She was wearing the green rain slicker she usually wore to fend off slushie facials, and she was carrying a large, black-and-white plaid umbrella. Artie smiled despite himself; Tina could always elicit that kind of reaction from him. All of a sudden, the rain didn't matter to Artie, because without Tina—her smiles, her jokes; the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand—even the sunniest day seemed bleak. Despite the black clothes, the fishnets and chains it was Tina and only Tina who brought the sunshine with her into Artie's life.

"I don't know, Tee, you kinda need a free hand to operate most umbrellas and mine are otherwise occupied." He gestured grandly at his still-slick wheels, and Tina smiled. "I don't like rainy days much either. It's funny—everyone thinks someone who dresses like me would just love all this gloomy, depressing stuff. I like watching it, but walking home through all the puddles in these shoes is gonna be a pain."

Artie glanced down. Tina was wearing her favorite lace-up combat boots. There was no way she'd be able to dodge puddles in _those_. Before he'd even made up his mind, the words were on his lips:

"Want a ride?"

Tina's face lit up. "Oh, Artie, that'd be great! Are you sure your dad won't mind?"

Artie didn't say a word as Tina held open the door for him and they made their way outside. Tina was looking around expectantly, as though trying to spot Mr. Abrams' car. Artie figured he should have expected she'd prefer a ride home in a _car_, but her smile had somehow possessed him with a fit of daring. He patted his lap and said "Have a seat."

"What?" Tina's smile was different now—kind of shy, color flooding into her cheeks. Artie briefly considered giving up. _It's too late now…don't start blushing, keep it cool…_

"Come on, Tina, you'll sprain an ankle if you slip in those. Besides, think how dry my clothes will stay with you sitting on my lap!" This time, Tina's grin widened. She seemed to hesitate for only a second before sitting carefully on Artie's lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulders to hold her balance. They rolled along in silence for a little while before Tina frowned. "This isn't working."

_Damn. Smooth move, Abrams. Way to freak her out._ "What's wrong?"

"We're both getting soaked; there _has_ to be another way."

If he could, Artie would have kicked himself for dragging Tina out in a torrential downpour and subjecting her to a longer-than-necessary trip home in the most awkward fashion imaginable. So much for a grand, romantic gesture. The way to a girl's heart was not through a monsoon. He was just about to apologize when Tina pulled out the plaid umbrella, opened it, and held it over their heads. She shook her hair out experimentally, brushing raindrops from her face. Artie caught the scent of jasmine on the air.

"That's a lot better, don't you think?"

Think? Artie wasn't sure he was still capable of thought. So he hadn't blown it? Tina was still talking, and Artie forced himself back to earth just in time to hear her say, "…but I can still feel the rain. I think we need to be a little closer for this to work."

Now Artie was sure _he_ was the one blushing as Tina cuddled right up against him, her head leaning against his shoulder, a contented grin firmly in place on her face. "That feels right, don't you think so?" Oh, but Tina couldn't _possibly_ know just how right it felt.

As he pushed them both homeward, Artie decided that maybe rainy days had their uses, after all.


End file.
